


you left me

by krucxa



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Loneliness, M/M, Seo Changbin-centric, and hasn't been for a long time, felix is referenced a lot but isn't actually there, it's really just sad, leaning to romantic a little, so i guess, technically you could see it as romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krucxa/pseuds/krucxa
Summary: He's sitting on their once shared bunk bed, his legs hanging loosely over the edge.The even ticking of the bedside clock fills the otherwise quiet room, the dim light of the night lamp barely even reaching the ground, but as he pays it enough attention, it all feels a little bit wrong.A little bitout of place.(Ever since he left.)





	you left me

**Author's Note:**

> this was written as, a way to vent, i guess. there isn't a happy ending and it's not even beta'd but if you'll somehow enjoy it, i'd be glad, i think  
> also, there's a reason i didn't out right say what exactly happened, or how felix left - it's kind of, so that a person who's lost anyone would relate to it more, doesn't matter which way you lost them - because this way, you can interpret it how you want. but if you did lose anyone in your life, i hope you've already accepted it, in some way at least  
> because i still haven't

He's sitting on their once shared bunk bed, his legs hanging loosely over the edge.

The even ticking of the bedside clock fills the otherwise quiet room, the dim light of the night lamp barely even reaching the ground, but as he pays it enough attention, it all feels a little bit wrong.

A little bit _out of place_.

(Ever since he left.)

It's all the same, monotone image he sees every morning, after waking up; every evening, after getting back from school; every night that he spends sleepless, staring at the ceiling blankly, _wondering_.

It's tiring.

He's tired.

(He remembers when this empty room was still filled with laughter.

He still remembers every little thing, every habit that _he_ had; he remembers _his_ tousled hair, how it would never get back in place no matter how hard anyone would try. He remembers _his_ sunkissed skin, sprinkled with the barely noticeable freckles, stars and even entire galaxies painted over _his_ cheeks - he remembers how _he_ would hide them at first, ashamed of what _he_ thought as blemishes staining his body, but with time and enough reassurance from Changbin a genuine smile would find its place on _his_ lips whenever anyone pointed them out.

_"Thank you"_ , he'd say, his eyes bright, truthful, _happy_ when met with a compliment, _his_ nose and ears gaining a rosy tint before he'd turn to Changbin with that shy, little grin - a secret, _their_ secret, that only he was ever to see.)

The walls are full of paintings that he'd never even thought to get rid of - sometimes people would suggest it, passingly, before backing out, startled at his reaction.

Because the paintings are _his_.

There's a little bit of _him_ in every one of them, in every line, every stripe and every smudge, the perfectly fitting colors contrasting the otherwise grey, boring walls.

And Changbin can't help but cling to every little thing that's left of _him_.

( _"Come on, Changbin, join me here!"_ he said one time, the brush almost falling out of his hand as he waved it excitedly, a few smudges of paint sticking to his nose and chin but he didn't even seem to be aware of it; and if he was, he didn't pay it any attention, all of it focused on Changbin, the fact messing with his heart a bit, and he wondered briefly whether he should be concerned for his own health.

"No, no, I'm not good at painting. I don't want to ruin what you've working on, it's better if I'll just watch."

The words earned him a confused glance from the other, before the boy jutted his lower lip in a pleading pout, looking like a kicked puppy. His eyes wide opened, fluttering eyelashes as he blinked a few times, but Changbin already knew this trick so he only shook his head with a fond smile.

"Won't work this time," he continued, a defeated sigh leaving the other's lips, but the stars never left his gaze as he turned back to face the painting once again.

_"If you say so,"_ he mumbled, before reaching up, all of his focus back on the brush in his hands, and his concentrated expression once again didn't fail at warming up Changbin's heart.)

This time though, as his empty gaze sticks to the painted walls, his chest feels dull.

It's not an unknown feeling, not at this point. Of course, it once was - when _he_ was still here, next to him, he's never felt so hollow before.

(Sure, there were times when he still felt down, but the blonde was always there when he did - and so were his reassuring whispers, his gentle touches, his-)

He can't stand it anymore.

It's stupid, he knows, but as much as he misses _him_ , he also can't stand even the simple thought of _him_.

Because he's still not over it, he still misses him just as much as he did the first week after _it_ happened, and no matter how many times people tell him to just _get over it_ \- it's just not that simple.

Because after all, even when _he's_ not here anymore - somehow, _he_ still is.

Changbin sees _him_ in the one familiar sweatshirt thrown carelessly on the ground.

(It was _his_ favorite.

Changbin never really understood _his_ never-ending love for the stupid shirt. It was ugly and clearly a few sizes too big - both for _him_ , and even more for Changbin.

But _he_ was so stubbornly appreciative of it, so he let him be.

Now, when he wouldn't even dare touch it out of pure disgust, now he even finds himself clutching it to his own chest, like the stupid thing was the only link back to _him_ \- as if, if he prayed enough, it would bring _him_ back - but in never did.)

Changbin sees _him_ in the little munchlax plushie that still occupies the tight space between the pillows and the wall on his bed.

(It was a gift from _him_.

At first, Changbin just wrinkled his nose at it, but later people would tease him for taking it everywhere he went.

Changbin called it Gyu, and _he_ seemed to find it hilarious when he first told _him_ about it.

But later, the laughter in _his_ eyes would be replaced by fondness, and Changbin suddenly found himself unable to breathe.)

Gyu was always a welcome presence, only a simple plushie yet enough to make him feel better whenever _he_ wasn't around to calm him down from a panic attack.

But now, the empty gaze of the munchlax seems strange, hostile even, and Changbin pushes it down from the bunk bed to get rid of the gnawing feeling that it watches closely every of his movements.

It only continues to judge him from the floor, staring up at him pathetically.

But really, who is the pathetic one here?

Honestly, Changbin's not even sure, at this point.

(He also sees _him_ in the littlest things outside; he sees him in the tangled earphones hanging from a stranger's neck, he sees _him_ in the untied shoelaces of his classmates he doesn't even bother to get to know better; he sees _him_ in the random girl humming a popular song a little bit out of tune, he sees him in the person ordering a sickly sweet, caramel coffee.

It's even to that point that simply leaving the house is too painful for him to do.)

How long has it been? Two weeks, maybe five months? He doesn't remember.

_Four years_ , the calendar adds in helpfully, but somehow, it doesn't feel right. Because surely, if _he_ was gone for so long, Changbin should already be in a better state, right? - and yet.

(There are times when he dreams.

He dreams of a young boy with messy, blonde hair and a crooked smile.

These dreams are both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing, because he gets to see the other again, even for a few seconds at least.

And a curse, because whenever he reaches out, tries to get closer, for the other to notice him-

_"Felix!"_

The boy vanishes and the dream ends with him waking up to the same, empty room.)

At times like that, he clutches the munchlax plushie to his chest, stubbornly choking back years, and he wishes, whispering it again and again, to fall asleep, and never wake up again.

(Maybe then, they'd finally reunite.)


End file.
